Dumbledore Comes to Tea
by Balsam
Summary: How does Hogwarts stay afloat-financially? And how do the Weasleys manage to send seven children there? The answer to the first question is by charging students to attend. The answer to the second is the object of this short character study.


Arthur was in his shed, tinkering, but his mind was elsewhere. He'd had a very interesting case today. He'd been called in after Magical Law Enforcement arrested a man who was chasing after his neighbours with an obviously-bewitched muggle artefact. The MLE wizards sorted out the dispute, but the artefact fell to Arthur to set right and sell back to a Muggle second-hand store. An MLE officer, whose squib second cousin had married a muggle, had identified the object as a "behoover" or "back-room cleaner". It seemed to Arthur that it sucked dirt out of carpets by running a bristly brush over them and sucking the dirt away. 'Funny name for a thing—a behoover,' Arthur thought to himself, 'and odd that they would limit its use to the back room. Perhaps it's out of fashion for muggles to have carpet in the sitting room nowadays.' As always, Arthur wondered if he mightn't get it to work by magic and save Molly some housework. Arthur smiled to himself; he knew all too well what Molly would say. 'Oh, Arthur!' rang her voice in his head, 'If anyone ever found it! What would Dumbledore say?'

The train of thought lead inevitably to Dumbledore. Dumbledore! He was due to arrive soon. Arthur checked his watch. The hour was later than he thought. He jumped up and ran into the house.

"Molly! Molly, dearest!" he called as he sped in through the back door. "How's tea coming?"

"Oh, Arthur!" Molly stood in the kitchen, pots of cream and jam flying through the air. Her voice was exactly as Arthur had heard it, just a few moments earlier, in the quiet of his shed. It was marked by that auditory streak of good-natured exasperation. "I think we had best serve him biscuits. Go shave, dear. Dumbledore never cared for crumpets, did he? And I pressed your best robes. Biscuits are nearly ready, darling. The patch barely shows at all now. _Accio cream!_ On your robes, I mean. Really, Arthur, did you forget to shave this morning?" She bustled around the small space, setting the mismatched tea service.

Arthur went upstairs to the bathroom and found his shaving kit. He turned to the mirror, picked up his razor, and stared himself straight in the face. 'Easy, old boy. Steady there.' The hand holding his razor shook. Jagged lines traced through the shaving foam. The Weasleys had always been short on cash, but never on family pride. They made do with what they had, putting family before finery, but now, two weeks after Ginevra's eleventh birthday...

"Arthur!" Molly's shrill voice called from downstairs. Arthur's hand jerked and the razor opened a small cut on his jaw-line.

"Bother," Arthur cursed under his breath. He smoothed instant healing balm over it and wet a cotton swab to clean his face. "Coming Molly!" he called aloud. Putting away his kit, he changed quickly into his best robes. Molly was right, the patch by the hem was nearly invisible. It was unlikely Dumbledore would be examining his ankles, anyway. Arthur examined the sitting room as he came down the stairs.

There was Molly, beautiful as always, her eyes still bright, though framed by new wrinkles. She smoothed her hair under his gaze. It was greyer than he remembered. He supposed his was, too. He tried to look at his house with the eyes of a stranger. His furniture was all old, and none of it matched. The most recently upholstered piece must have been ten years behind the fashion. There were a few heirloom pieces, some magnificently preserved. But they were all too big—built for larger houses and much grander times.

"Arthur, dear," Molly stepped towards him and reached out. "Your belt's crooked." She fixed it carefully. In that moment, Arthur knew. His house was falling down, his furniture falling apart, but his family—his life—was held together. And Dumbledore would see that.

_Pop!_

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley both heard the noise of an apparition down the drive. Arthur lead the way to the door and out, striding down the lane to meet the most respected wizard in Britain, perhaps in the world. Molly hung back in the door, watching her children zooming around the field. Arthur saw her holding out her arms as he accompanied Dumbledore back to their home.

"Professor Dumbledore, welcome," she said

"It's a pleasure, as always, to visit you here. But come, now, Molly, has the interval doomed us to formality once more?" Dumbledore held out his arms and he and Molly embraced as friends.

"I forget myself sometimes, Albus. Silly of me, really. But come in, come in!"

Arthur took Dumbledore's hat as they entered the house. He felt some of his apprehension returning as Dumbledore gazed around appraisingly. Deciding something for himself, he allowed Arthur to take him into the sitting room. They made pleasant conversation—the state of the school, goings on at the office, the children's developing skill on their broomsticks—as Molly served tea and biscuits.

Presently, Dumbledore's face grew a little more serious. "Now, Arthur, it's lovely to see you again, but I see there's something...important," Dumbledore placed a delicate emphasis, "you wish to discuss."

Arthur flushed faintly. "Well, yes, Albus. I wanted to—that is to say..." he struggled to find the right words. "Well, you know Ginny's just gotten her letter. She's our last, the seventh to go to Hogwarts...And we wouldn't have it any other way! It's just...we've got five going this year and Percy looking to take his NEWTs as well." Arthur looked at Dumbledore across the three-legged table and a worn chintzy footstool. Dumbledore nodded slowly. Arthur steeled himself-

"Oh, Albus, we can't afford it!" Molly broke through. She covered her face with her hands in embarrassment at her boldness as much as shame at their situation.

Dumbledore stood quite quickly, startling Arthur. He crossed to Molly and sat on the footstool before her. "Now, Molly, none of that," he said sternly.

"I'm s-sorry, Professor—I mean, Albus."

Dumbledore took Molly by the wrists and lowered her hands. He picked a handkerchief out of the air and gave it to her, holding her hand as she wiped her tears away. Crossing back to his own seat and turning to Arthur, he continued, "Weasleys and Prewetts," he said, with a nod to Molly, "have attended Hogwarts since its founding. The wizarding world is not what it once was, but some things will always stay the same. Miss Weasley—Ginevra, isn't it?—will attend Hogwarts just as her brothers before her and her parents before them, and her grandparents before them. Hogwarts will not close under the strain of five tuitions deferred."

Arthur looked at Dumbledore, wide-eyed, but close-mouthed. Molly burst into a fresh wave of tears, these brought by incredulity rather than shame. "Thank you, Albus. Thank you..."

"Really, Molly. No need for that. You've quite enough to be worrying about, sending your youngest off to school, without that on your plate. I think it's time for me to be going." Rising, he nodded. "Until next time, Molly. I hope we can see each other more frequently."

Arthur rose to see Dumbledore out. He handed Dumbledore his hat and opened the door.

"Don't try to argue, Arthur," Dumbledore said gently as Arthur opened his mouth. "I said 'deferred' after all. I'd have taken both twins on one tuition and given you the youngest two if you'd have taken it. Family discount. After all the jumpers Molly's given me..."

"I can't thank you enough, Albus. You'll get the gold, I swear it." The men grasped arms. "Until next time."

"Indeed, my friend." Albus replied. "Unfortunate that, with the end of the war, I don't get the chance to meet you here as often as I'd like. I was reminded, as I entered, how very much I'd love to live here, or close enough to take Sunday dinner, at any rate."

And with that, Arthur watched the wizard he admired most let himself out the garden gate and walk into the distance, growing fainter until finally, he disapparated.


End file.
